MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 503: Leave Home

They packed their bags with the kind of quiet efficiency that came from doing it a hundred times before.

Victor was with them, already waiting in the lobby, his ever-present calm keeping things steady. He handled the final check-out, leaving Damon and Svetlana to focus on themselves.

Damon glanced around the room one last time. The championship medal rested snug in his carry-on. The belt had its own custom case, courtesy of the World MMA Association. Everything else was packed tight.

He was ready to leave England.

And ready for what was next.

Ireland had shown him love.

After the tournament, the Irish officials and fans had welcomed him like a returning hero.

They'd gifted him things, plaques, custom gear, even a handcrafted pendant with the Irish crest on it.

But it was more than the gifts.

It was the pride in their voices when they called him their champion.

Damon had been requested to come home to Ireland for a few days after the tournament, and he did.

He stood at press conferences, parades, and ceremonies where they honored him.

They wanted him to bring the belt home, and he did that.

But now, it was time to go home home.

Back to the U.S.

Back to his people.

He and Svetlana couldn't just run off on some vacation without seeing family first.

Not after a night like that.

Not after everything that had happened.

He owed them that.

And, truthfully, he wanted it too.

The flight home passed faster than expected. Damon spent most of it slouched in his seat, hood up, eyes shut, playing the part of an exhausted fighter.

It wasn't an act entirely, his body still carried the wear and tear, but the real reason for his silence was the work he was putting in behind his eyelids.

Inside the simulation, he was busy.

Polishing.

Perfecting.

The ghost punch had promise, but Damon wasn't the type to settle for " almost good enough." He drilled it over and over, adjusting the angles, the tempo of his combinations, testing how to disguise the strike even against elite defense.

Timing it during exchanges, breaking opponents' rhythm, slipping it between movements like it didn't exist at all.

By the time the wheels touched down, Damon felt like it close he would master it.

When they landed in the U.S., there wasn't a second to breathe before the reception hit.

Family was waiting.

Their kind of family.

Joey, Ashley, Ash, Ty, Edward, his crew. The people who had always been there, win or lose.

They didn't rush him, didn't crowd him.

But when he stepped out and locked eyes with them, the energy was there. The quiet pride. The satisfaction of seeing one of their own standing at the top of the world.

The greetings were easy.

Joey gave him a nod that said they had things to talk about soon, but not today.

Ashley smiled, tired from the baby on her hip, but still there like always.

Ash and Ty went back and forth about their plans, Olympic training and family business, both pretending they weren't watching Damon like they always did.

Edward hung back more than the rest, quiet but present, a look in his eye that showed he was thinking about his own next move in the UFA.

There was no pressure in that moment. No tension.

They all moved in a pack, getting out of the airport and heading home together.

Svetlana stayed close to him, her hand brushing against his now and then, like an anchor.

The next couple of days passed like they always did when they got together.

Stories, old fights, plenty of teasing, the kind of things only people who had been through hell together could throw around without it meaning anything.

At some point, the idea of a party came up.

Not some formal thing.

No press, no sponsors, no networking.

Just them.

Food, music, drinks, simple.

Two days later, it happened.

And it was perfect.

Nobody worried about schedules or obligations. There were no cameras, no interviews. Just laughter, plates piled high, glasses raised, and a reminder that sometimes it was okay to take a breath.

For Damon, it was probably the first time in years he let himself relax without thinking about what came next.

And in that moment, it was enough.

The days that followed were quiet in the best ways. Damon didn't need to check a clock or stare at a training schedule. For once, time was his own.

He spent several days with his mother, something he hadn't done in far too long.

Aoife welcomed him with that quiet strength of hers, but there was softness now that hadn't always been there. They sat on the couch and talked for hours, sometimes about nothing at all.

Other times about things they'd avoided for years. She made him tea in the mornings. He cooked dinner in the evenings. It wasn't perfect, but it was peaceful.

Svetlana joined them for most of the visit, blending in like she belonged there all along. Aoife warmed to her quickly, not that Damon had expected anything less.

She already adored Svetlana.

After that, it was time to visit Svetlana's parents. Victor had been with them for much of the time in Ireland and England, always the coach, always keeping things steady, but this was different.

He was home now. There wasn't the usual weight of the fight looming overhead. Victor and Macey welcomed them in, and for once.

They sat down for long meals, Svetlana laughing with her mother while Victor occasionally shot Damon a look that said this is the real work. Damon took it in stride.

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Days slipped into weeks faster than either of them realized. It felt like they had just returned, and already a month had passed.

But time was moving. And the trip they had planned, the trip, was calling.

A promise made between them.

To step away from everything, even if only for a while.

It was time to leave again.

Svetlana's voice echoed down the hallway, sharp and urgent, cutting through the quiet like a blade. She was moving fast, her boots thudding against the hardwood, and from the sound of it, not in the mood to be patient.

"Damon! If we miss this flight, I swear—"

She came around the corner, hair tied back, travel bag already slung over her shoulder, eyes narrowed in that way she got when she was serious.

He was standing by the window, far too relaxed for the moment, sipping from a water bottle like he had all the time in the world.

He chuckled under his breath, not moving just yet. "We're not gonna miss it," he said, shaking his head as if it was obvious. "Planes wait for champions."

Her glare deepened, but there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her. She wanted to laugh but wasn't about to let him get away with it. Instead, she pointed toward the door like a command.

"Now," she said.

Damon pushed off the wall, still smirking. He crossed the room with the kind of easy pace that said he wasn't in a rush, even if he should've been.

But as he passed her, instead of heading for the exit, he suddenly veered toward the back of the apartment.

"I forgot something," he said casually over his shoulder.

"You better not make us late," she shot back, already checking the time on her phone.

He disappeared into a room she never went into. Not because it was off-limits, but because Damon always kept it that way. A personal space. Quiet. Private.

This time, he moved quickly. No hesitation.

He crossed to the cabinet against the far wall. It was old—heavy wood, polished smooth from years of use, but solid, like everything in his life had to be.

Opening it, he reached for the small box sitting alone on the top shelf.

It was simple.

Elegant.

The kind of box you noticed without even knowing why.

The dark finish, the smooth edges, there was something about it that made it feel heavier than it was.

He held it for a moment.

Stared at it in his hand, thumb brushing over the lid.

There wasn't much that made Damon Cross hesitate these days. But this?

This made him pause.

A breath.

Then he shoved it into his bag with the same smooth motion he'd practiced a thousand times in the cage. Quick. Decisive.

The zipper closed over it, and that was that.

By the time he made it back to the front door, Svetlana was there, hands on her hips, still watching the time tick by.

"Ready," Damon said with a grin.

She didn't ask what he forgot.

And he didn't tell her.